illuminations-w blake


Render unto Caesar
only if you’re not the
bar-coded behemoth
mounting the svelte
leviathan of the



Hoggers of harvest,
perversely insatiate bellies
hungering for a thousand
grain mountains. The

chasm has them. Materially
desensitised to the all-
fulfilling Immaterials;
Midas is their only ally.




In the darkly-sunken vaults the
gold gather-shines far more brightly;
pestilential hoards of kings, managers,
politicians and princes: a redolent
stockpile of surfeit and immured

A theft so gargantuan that it is
surprisingly opaque to most lazy eyes
of res publica; the alert ones having
been gouged out long before by
        malevolent Cornwalls.

Fraud reassumes fraudulent mastery
with the legerdemain of the stock
actor switching persona-masks.
Magicians are mistaken for Magi in
this magnificent Canary Wharf

And the attentive luminaries are
condescended to, censored, blacklisted;
or, if all else fails, cajoled themselves
        into the swindle.

And for the rest: an astigmatic
groping around in faecal-murky


Mark Wilson
Pic: Behemoth and Leviathan: W Blake







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